


Kiss the Sky

by insomniabug



Series: Smol & Tol drabbles [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniabug/pseuds/insomniabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Illya asks permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a tumblr post where instead of one person of your otp surprise kisses the other person, they ask permission to kiss first.

In a move to rival even Napoleon, Illya smoothly brushes a piece of her hair back behind her ear. His fingertips gently brushing down her cheek to the side of her neck, his thumb catching on the edge of her chin. Her nerves crackle beneath her skin, like electricity is running through her.

“I am going to kiss you now.” He is already leaning downwards, eyes like liquid gold aimed right at her. The fact that his gaze is solely trained on her eyes, not her lips or closing shut, sends a strange thrill down her spine. Never has a man ever looked at her like this - wanted her like this.

_Like he lo-_

“No.” Her voice is clipped and resolute.

Illya’s face immediately falls, eyes widening in surprise. She feels his fingers begin to tremble against her neck before his hand falls to his side. Somehow she knows it isn’t from anger, but from embarrassment.

“I thought…it seemed like…” He tries to explain, taking a few steps back as the space between his eyebrows folds into tiny wrinkles.

“There was something between us?” Gaby supplies, and can’t keep the smirk off her face, which, she knows, is cruel and mean-spirited…but still can’t help it. She can be, as Napoleon likes to tell her, a little shit sometimes. But then again, it takes one to know one. Gaby sometimes feels sorry for Illya's having to deal with the both of them when they were in top shitty form.

"I guess I was wrong.” Gaby wonders just how long she can keep him like this, firmly beneath her thumb, because something about having this much power over a six foot five KGB agent makes her feel powerful. But the crestfallen look on his face, like she had just told him Napoleon had better fashion sense than him, persuades her to take him out of his misery.

“Illya, the reason you are not going to kiss me...” she starts, grabbing the nearest chair and walking towards an increasingly bewildered Russian giant. The way he doesn’t move as she sets the chair down before him and climbs on it, keeps feeding the feeling of dominance over him. (She can already tell she’s getting addicted to it.)

“…is because _I_ am going to kiss _you_.” She looks down at his wide blue eyes, resolutely keeps her eyes trained there and not at those deliciously parted lips of his, and waits for him to understand the teasing trick she’s pulled on him. It seems like an eternity, and right as she begins to feel a little foolish, he nods imperceptibly, and the rush of relief flooding her body almost embarrasses her.

“Very well then.” Illya’s accent becomes more pronounced, his voice rough and low, this time sending the electric current straight to the juncture between her thighs.

“Alright then.” She agrees, and kisses him.


End file.
